Me: That poor girl. If she’s alive, she’s in some hotel room right now going, “No, Noooooo!”

J: What is up with the Bon Jovi one on the right?

Me: No one’s going to go into hiding looking like that.

J: (Mock news-broadcaster voice:) Levy may have recently joined a big-hair rock band from the early eighties.

10:03 a.m.

Evan says:
“If one were to try, I bet one could discern at what points in the last three years I’ve had a girlfriend based, not on the content of my blog, but simply by analyzing the number nights in a given month I’m making posts between the hours of 1:00 AM and 5:00 AM. I let you figure out the correlation. (2:04 AM)”

In other words, he’s free man, ladies. But for how long? Let the frenetic email flirtations begin!

11:22 a.m.

A small slice of my 4th of July family reunion:

Me: You’ve got a big hunk of something in your teeth.

My sister Raina: (Smiles winningly, and moves her face closer to mine.)

Me: Ugh! Stop it.

Raina: It’s sexy.

Me: (Running my finger seductively over my peeling sun burnt shoulder.) No, this is sexy. Mmmmm.

Raina: I’m going to keep one of these teeth things at home, so I can have one ready when I go out.

My cousin Ryan: You’ve got a collection of dried chives.

Me: I think Madonna had one of those, hers was 14kt. gold, though. She’s into those felt syphilitic moles now.

Ryan: There’s a whole line of possibilities. Like fake boogers.

All: Gahh!

Me: 14kt. gold fake boogers!

Raina: That reminds me! I have a story.

Me: Do we want to hear this?

Raina: It’s not about boogers.

My cousin Ben: If it’s not about boogers, I don’t wanna hear it.

Raina: So I come home from work and there are tampons all over my lawn. I guess the kids found a box of my tampons and they were playing with them. I’m running around totally embarrassed scooping up tampons before the neighbors see.

Me: What the hell was the baby sitter doing?

Raina: She probably just thought they were playing out front. Anyway, Trevor comes outside the next morning and says, “Where are all my pop guns?”

11:10 a.m.

I just came across a magazine ad for women’s deodorant that screams,”TURN SHY RECLUSIVE ARMPITS INTO VIVACIOUS DIVAS.” Sort of makes you jealous of all those vivacious-armpit girls.

11:50 a.m.

7.11.01

How perceptions are formed:

My hands felt sticky, so I went to wash them. There was a woman plucking her eyebrows in front of the mirror. I washed my hands and then figured that I might as well use the bathroom while I was there. When I came back out, she was still plucking away. I washed my hands and left. Hence forth, she’ll think of me as that wacko OCD girl who has to wash her hands before and after peeing. But she’s the one plucking her eyebrows at work. Freakshow.

3 p.m.

Two people I don’t particularly want to know better:

The woman on the freeway with the “This car protected by angels” license plate frame.

The guy who was chosen to be on MTV’s “Becoming Blink 182″ and said, “In my whole life 19 years nothing has come close to matching this. I don’t know if anything ever will.”1:42 p.m.

Et tu, Webvan? Oh, how the Web hath deserted me. I feel so alone.

11:08 a.m.

Apparently a geriatric beefcake calendar has made its subjects porn stars in their convalescent complex. The women won’t leave them alone. This quote is fabulous:

“They have gone hysterical,” she said, since the calendar was first circulated through the complex. “They don’t care if those men are 80, 90, 104 – - as long as they’re breathing. And those men are now so conceited. They press their pants, they’re putting on ties, their teeth are clean.”

4:53 p.m.